I'm being ridiculous.
That's what I tell myself as I pace outside Henderson's Blooms at exactly 4:55, my helmet tucked under my arm, checking my phone every thirty seconds like some nervous teenager.
I shouldn't be here. Ruby doesn't need me to pick her up. The wind died down hours ago. The walk home would be fine. She's a grown woman, she can handle herself.
Except I can't stop thinking about how exhausted she looked yesterday, facing down her piece-of-shit ex and her manipulative parents. About the way she held that kid so tight, like he was the only good thing in her world.
This morning, I heard her struggling to get out the door. I heard Liam's excited chatter and her stressed voice trying to hurry him along. I watched from my window as she stumbled down the sidewalk in the wind, that kid getting heavier with every step, and everything in me wanted to help.
But I didn't. I stayed inside like a coward, telling myself I needed to keep my distance. That getting involved with her beyond basic neighbor help was a bad idea.
King's words from yesterday’s meeting kept repeating in my head: *"Don't fuck up your patch by getting distracted."*
So, I pretended I didn't see her. Pretended I didn't hear her. Let her walk to work in that brutal wind while I sat on my ass drinking coffee.
The guilt's been eating at me all day.
That meeting last night at the clubhouse ran long. King wanted full details about the incident with Ruby's family, and I gave them everything from Marcus swinging at me to the parents'threats about taking the kid. Tank looked ready to hunt them down himself, especially after what he went through with Amelia's abusive ex.
"Keep an eye on the situation," King told me. "If they come back, you call the club. We handle it together."
"Yes, sir."
"And Chaos?" King's blue eyes locked on mine. "Don't get too involved. You're still a prospect. You've got responsibilities to the club first."
I nodded, but the warning sat heavy in my gut. Because the truth is, I'm already too involved. I spent all last night lying awake, listening for sounds from Ruby's house, making sure no one came back to harass her.
But King's right. I can't let myself get distracted. I'm so close to getting my patch. After months of proving myself, of taking every shit assignment without complaint, of standing with my brothers against the Iron Eagles, I'm finally about to become a full member.
I can't fuck that up over a woman.
Except here I am at 4:55, waiting outside her work like I couldn't stay away if I tried. And that’s not even the worst part. I actually used Savage Rider’s connections to figure out where she was working.
Through the shop window, I can see Ruby moving around inside, talking to an older woman who must be the owner. Ruby's short ginger hair catches the afternoon light, and even from here I can see how much more relaxed she looks than yesterday. Her shoulders aren't hunched up around her ears. She's smiling.
Good. She deserves to smile.
The kid is sitting on the counter, swinging his legs and chattering. Ruby says something to him and he laughs, that bright, uninhibited sound that only kids can make.
I remember being that age. Sort of. Most of my early childhood is a blur of fever dreams and my parents' arguments. But there were a few good moments. My mom reading me stories when I was too sick to sleep. My dad teaching me how to throw a baseball during one of my rare healthy periods.
Before everything went to shit. Before the constant illness turned me into a burden they couldn't wait to get rid of.
I shake off the memory and check my phone again. 4:57.
A couple walks past, giving me curious looks. I probably look like a stalker, lurking outside a flower shop with my motorcycle parked at the curb. Whatever. Let them stare.
At exactly five o'clock, the shop door opens and Ruby emerges with Liam on her hip, a bag slung over her shoulder. She's talking to him about something, making animated expressions that have him giggling.
Then she sees me.
She stops so abruptly that Liam looks up at her face, following her gaze to where I'm standing.
"Chaos?" Her hazel eyes are wide, uncertain. "What are you doing here?"
Now that she's actually in front of me, my prepared speech evaporates. I feel like an idiot standing here with my helmet, no good excuse for why I came.
"Thought you might want a ride home," I say, trying to sound casual. "Save you the walk."
